


When Words Fail

by bellatabla



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dance, Anxiety, Awkward Dates, Dancing, Eventual Smut, Irish Dance, Irish Dance AU, Irish step dance, Loosely based on Lord of the Dance, M/M, Pining, True Love, VictUuri, viktuuri
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-13 23:13:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11770449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellatabla/pseuds/bellatabla
Summary: Katsuki Yuuri came to Detroit as one of the most talented ballet dancers the world had ever seen, but since childhood, he has harbored a secret dream in his heart, one he knew was nearly impossible. When the opportunity comes for him to dance on the same stage as his idol, Victor Nikiforov, will he become the lord of the dance, or fade into obscurity? Only time will tell.





	When Words Fail

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everybody! This is my first fanfic in a while, and my first for the YoI fandom, so I appreciate you taking the time to read this! You don't need to know anything about Irish dance or Lord of the Dance, but both can be found on YouTube if you're curious. Thanks again!  
> -Bellatabla

[Visions](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CEjclME_BM4) of swirling cloth and the alluring tempo set by the taps of hard shoes whirled through Katsuki Yuuri’s mind as he pushed open the door to the dark studio. It was late, nearing midnight at a guess. Nevertheless, Yuuri continued in, the hour meaning little to him. He was glad for the music in his mind, breaking through the steadily building panic that came with the end of the semester. Nights like tonight were difficult, and made him all the more thankful for his arrangement with the owner of the studio: access whenever he wanted in exchange for lessons taught to younger students. It was more than a fair deal. Here, he could silence the raging storms of his anxious thoughts and just _be._ Few other places brought him as much peace as this quiet studio in the dead of night did.

            Yuuri set his bag down on the low bench, and pulled out his well-worn hard [shoes](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/426505027191523171/). The soft leather was cracking in some places and a few of the taps were loose, but Yuuri gently pulled them on anyway. It was obvious these shoes were used often, judging from their somewhat ragged appearance, but well-loved despite the near-constant usage. Pointing his toe to begin his warm-up, upbeat rhythms stole his thoughts away as he continued through his stretches. He bent over at the waist, grabbing his toned calves, pulling himself deeper. He relished the gentle straining of his muscles provided by the movement, and deftly swept into another stretching position. For a time, the only sounds in the studio were his soft, even breaths, and the occasional tap when he moved his feet. It was not enough to begin a melody like the one cascading through his mind, but a prelude of what was to come. He must be well warmed up; this was not a dance he could perform underprepared.

            The young man bent to inspect the fastenings of his beloved hard shoes, checking them thoroughly that they were of the correct tightness. He could not afford an injury, with his final recital of the semester so close. Yuuri pushed the thought away, and focused his attention back on the shoes. Satisfied with the fit, he straightened up. He threw his arms around himself several times in a hug-like manner, ensuring all his muscles, not just those in his legs, would be prepared to carry him through the rigorous dance. Finally, he was ready. His preparations took longer than that of the average dancer, but then again, Yuuri was no average dancer. Though he would seldom show it, and never acknowledge it, he was one of the most talented dancers the world had ever seen. Gracefully arching his body into the starting position of the dance, Yuuri caught a glimpse of himself in the mirrors that lined the far wall, so different from how he was in the beginning…

* * *

 

            Yuuri had always been a quiet child, preferring the company of his ballet teacher to peers his own age. Minako, a close friend of the Katsuki family, had taken Yuuri under her wing almost from the moment he could walk. Though Minako had tried to sweep up Yuuri’s older sister, Mari, as well, the girl simply wasn’t interested. Mari was something of a tomboy, favoring dirt bikes over dancing. Yuuri, however, was almost feminine in his carriage. Unlike most toddlers, stumbling along as they learned the skill of walking, Yuuri, after a few lithe steps with the aid of his father, spun a delicate pirouette. His parents were astounded with the grace of his movements, so atypical of a child Yuuri’s age. Minako proudly proclaimed he’d been born to dance, and from that moment on, he spent more time in her studio than he did in school or at home. As Yuuri grew up, he grew stronger, though no less shy. Years of ballet gave him a lean physique, the chubbiness of childhood melting away into sleek muscles. Minako had declared him her protégé, and she was fiercely proud of his ballet prowess. He was undoubtedly her most talented student, leaping, spinning, and lunging across the dance floor like gravity and fatigue meant nothing to him. However, he remained painfully anxious about displaying his skills to anyone. Despite Minako coming close to begging at times, Yuuri steadfastly refused to perform in anything other than her studio’s biannual recitals. Several ballet companies in surrounding towns offered Yuuri a place in their troupes, but Yuuri was firm. Despite his frequent rejections, the companies never rescinded their offers, and continued to make new ones should he ever change his mind. He never did.

            Though he never joined a troupe, and only showcased his skills twice a year, there was a burning desire in Yuuri to learn _more._ He shot up through the advancing levels of ballet classes until Minako had little more to teach him. His dances were nearly flawless; he laid his soul bare every time he took to the floor. His technique was everything a ballet teacher hoped and wished to see in her students, but it was the way Yuuri expressed himself through the dance that put Minako in awe. There weren’t words to describe the things he did, the unspeakable thoughts and feelings in his head bursting forth in the storytelling movements of his body. He wove intricate stories, painted portraits of reeling emotions as he danced. Yuuri’s motions portrayed more than words could ever say. It was truly a sight to behold, should Yuuri ever decide to let anyone watch him outside of the scripted recitals; a rare feat. Despite his friends’ and family’s standing ovations each time he let them in, Yuuri never displayed himself like this for an audience.

            Soon enough, even the most advanced ballet wasn’t enough for Yuuri’s hunger for more. It was at the age of 12 when Yuuri, already a masterful ballerino, was first introduced to a new dance, one he’d never so much as heard of before. Minako took him and Mari to a show in Tokyo one weekend, and Yuuri could say with confidence it changed his life. An old friend of Minako’s from the professional dance world was in it, and had managed to get free tickets for her and the Katsuki children. The show was a timeless story of good overcoming evil, but the way it was told was different from anything he’d ever experienced: Irish step dance. Its wild, unbridled passion spoke directly to Yuuri’s yearning heart. Even more, Yuuri was enraptured by the beautiful, silver-haired boy who danced as a young, flute-playing [spirit](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/8/83/Lord_of_the_Dance_-_02_Cry_Of_The_Celts%2C_The_Spirit_%28cropped%29.JPG/220px-Lord_of_the_Dance_-_02_Cry_Of_The_Celts%2C_The_Spirit_%28cropped%29.JPG) , guiding the protagonists through the journey. Yuuri knew in the very depths of his soul that he wanted to dance like that boy, wanted to dance _with_ that boy. From then on, he was determined to learn this new dance, even if there was no one to teach him.

            From that point on, Yuuri was obsessed. He was hungry for Irish dance like a starved man for a morsel of bread. Though Minako was friendly with a few Irish dancers, she knew none of the dance herself. There was no one in Hasetsu who could teach Yuuri, and the closest school of Irish dance was in Tokyo; on top of that, it was far too expensive for Yuuri’s family to be able to send him. Though disappointed, Yuuri understood. As a consolation, his parents agreed to buy him a simple pair of hard shoes, like the performers wore. Yuuri treasured these shoes, and cared for them as though they were made of gold. He was determined to learn, and so he worked in private. He ordered a beginner’s video, and taught himself the basics from that. As he grew up, and YouTube became more prominent, Yuuri was able to learn more advanced techniques from video tutorials. To Yuuri’s surprise, some of these videos were taught by the same silver-haired boy he had admired the first time he saw an Irish dance show! The boy’s name, it turns out, was Viktor Nikiforov. Yuuri relentlessly pursued any video of Viktor dancing he could find, even if it was specifically a tutorial. He looped the videos over and over, greedily taking in everything he could.

            Over the years, Yuuri pushed himself to his limits, growing stronger, faster, and more powerful. He made no secret of his admiration for Victor Nikiforov, the spirited Irish dancer from Russia. Yuuri obsessively collected pictures of Victor in various performances and costumes, pinning them on the walls of his small bedroom. He even went so far as to adopt a poodle, simply because Viktor had earlier that year. Yuuri named the dog Victor, though he was called Vicchan, and spent talking to Vicchan as though he were speaking with the human Victor. In his heart, he secretly hoped to dance on the same stage as Viktor, but he knew the chances of this were slim. He was a Japanese boy with no formal training in the art. Viktor at least had the advantage of being European; there were more schools there, and he was not so easily teased for partaking in the dance, as Yuuri sometimes was. It was offensive to think a Japanese kid could perform the dance of the Celts, he had been told. It was crushing, at times. So Yuuri continued to do ballet with Minako, growing bold enough to partake in performances for surrounding ballet companies, much to his teacher’s joy. At home, though, he continued to memorize the taps, to seal them into his muscles where they wouldn’t be easily forgotten. He could even perform a few simplified versions of the routines he saw in the show that night that changed his life.

            Eventually, the time came for Yuuri to attend university. He knew what he wanted to do, but was scared of how his parents would react. He was a bundle of nerves leading up to his confession, but his understanding parents agreed, and even encouraged him to go. He had been accepted months ago to an international school of dance in Detroit, Michigan. The school offered nearly every kind of dance known, and with Yuuri’s ballet prowess and Minako’s glowing recommendation, he had been offered a place there almost immediately along with a full scholarship. Needless to say, his parents were overjoyed, if a bit sad he’d be so far away. Even the usually stoic Mari congratulated him. Though he was officially entering as a ballet student, he had signed up to take some Irish dance classes as well, the dream still thrumming in his heart of dancing with Viktor someday. It was a whirlwind of preparation in the days leading up to Yuuri’s departure, and all at once, he was off on his American adventure.

            Yuuri arrived in Detroit without any issues, and was greeted at the airport by a tall, well-muscled man whose wild hair was slicked back in a ponytail. This was Celestino Cialdini, Yuuri’s new instructor. Celestino easily met Yuuri’s awkwardness, and assured him he would be most welcome at the school. A short drive later, they arrived at the school’s dormitories, and Celestino led his new student to his room. Yuuri was grateful wanting nothing more than to sleep after a long day of travel. Without bothering to turn on the lights, Yuuri flopped face-down onto the bed nearest the door, only to be roughly shoved off with a screech. Alarmed, Yuuri flew backwards, and fumbled for the light switch. There was some muttering in a foreign language Yuuri didn’t know, and a bedside lamp was switched on. Sitting on the bed looking disheveled was a young, black-haired boy with smooth dark skin and big, grey eyes staring at Yuuri. Yuuri was too startled to say anything, opening and closing his mouth stupidly. The boy on the bed took initiative.

            “Sorry to shove you like that! I just wasn’t expecting anyone to lie on me like that in the middle of the night!”

            “Um, sorry…I didn’t realize anyone was in here…” Yuuri stammered. The other boy climbed off the bed and walked over to where Yuuri was standing.

            “I guess we’re roomies then! I’m Phichit Chulanont. What’s your name?” he said sunnily.

            “Katsuki Yuuri. It’s nice to meet you! Sorry about…earlier.” Phichit laughed, and suddenly Yuuri felt more at ease.

            “Well, Katsuki Yuuri, I think we’re going to be good friends!”

            And they were. The two grew almost inseparable over their years at the school, each considering the other his best friend. Phichit was a few years younger than Yuuri, but his outstanding talent in multiple styles of dance and his flair for the dramatic had made him an easy target for the school. Yuuri confided in Phichit his secret dream to become an Irish dancer, even as he studied ballet. Phichit readily supported his newfound friend, and confided his own dream in Yuuri. He wanted to put together a troupe of ram Thai dancers, a dance native to his home country of Thailand, and go on tour around the world, showing off the beauty of Thai dance. The roommates encouraged each other to get better, even when their muscles ached and fatigue set in. By his senior year, Yuuri had become the principle dancer of the ballet corps, a feat that was envied by many other dancers in the well-respected dance school. Even before graduation, he was receiving offers to dance in major companies as a principle, much better than the average ballet student. But even after hours upon hours of punishing his body in the beautiful brutality of ballet, he still attended Irish dance classes, ascending through the levels as quickly as he had in ballet as a child. He often returned home late in the evening, sore with bloodied feet, and collapse into bed, before awakening early the next morning to do it all again. Occasionally, Phichit tried to get him to take a few weeks’ break, but Yuuri adamantly refused, knowing he’d never achieve his dream like this. He danced until his legs gave out, and never regretted a moment of it.

* * *

 

        

    In the quiet, mirrored room, the passage of time meant nothing. There were no windows or skylights to indicate the rising or setting of the sun and moon, only the fluorescent lights overhead, only half of which were turned on. Yuuri paused mid-step, certain he’d heard a noise that didn’t belong in the studio in the dead of night. Suddenly, every one of Yuuri’s sense heightened as he tried to determine the source of the noise. He was reasonably sure he hadn’t imagined it. His hearing was nearly impeccable, taking advantage of it to keep perfect time with the music. Being careful not to move his feet lest the taps give him away, Yuuri knelt to the ground and swiftly untied his shoes and slipped them off. He padded across the dance floor to the closed door from which the noise had come. Though he had no weapon to defend himself with, he was fairly certain of his ability to protect himself. Years and years of intense dance training had left him strong and well-muscled. A single well-place kick or punch would be all it took for him to get away. Yuuri took a deep breath, steadying himself, and moved to throw the door open to surprise whomever (or whatever!) lay on the opposite side. Just as his hand reached out to grasp the handle of the door, it was thrown open with a bang, and Yuuri leapt back in surprise. Taking a defensive stance, Yuuri looked up to see what had burst through the door. He was met with his roommate and best friend, Phichit, doubled over with laugher.

            “Jeez, Phichit, you nearly gave me a heart attack!” Yuuri exclaimed.

            “Sorry! I thought you’d gotten my texts!” Phichit replied, trying to stifle his laughter at Yuuri’s frazzled state. Yuuri rubbed the back of his neck guiltily.

            “Ah, no, I haven’t been checking my phone…” Phichit snorted.

            “I should’ve known. You always get like this before final recitals,” Phichit said, moving to gather Yuuri’s dance gear.

            “Wait, what are you doing?” Yuuri asked. Phichit rolled his eyes in response, as though the answer should be obvious.

            “You need to go home and get some sleep, Yuuri. You’ve been here all night.” Yuuri huffed in disbelief.

            “No, I haven’t. It’s barely been an hour and a half.” Phichit rolled his eyes again, and without saying a word, extended his phone, where the time read 6:07 a.m. “Okay….maybe I have…but I’m fine! I just need to…”

            “You need to sleep and stop abusing your body like this!” Phichit cut in. “You remember what happened last semester when you danced all night every night like this.”

            “It’s not like that this time!”

            “Uh-huh,” Phichit responded, words dripping with sarcasm. “Come on, Yuuri. We’re going home.”

            “Don’t you have rehearsal today?” Yuuri asked, hedging for just a bit more studio time.

            “Yes, and I will personally strangle you if you make me late and I get chewed out by Celestino again.”

            “Fine,” Yuuri sighed, digging in his bag to find his street shoes.

            “By the way,” Phichit said as his friend tied his shoes, “What exactly were you planning to do, hiding behind the door like that?”

            “Kick your ass, obviously!” Yuuri bit back with a laugh. Phichit snorted again, muttering something in Thai. “I can hear you, you know!”

            “You’re meant to!” Phichit retorted. The two friends shared another laugh before leaving the studio together into the growing light of the early morning.

* * *

 

 

            A few hours later, Yuuri was awakened by an excited Phichit flopping dramatically onto his bed. Yuuri grunted and rolled over, pulling the sheets over his head.

            “Wake up! Come on, sleepyhead, it’s almost 11!” Phichit exclaimed.

            “Noooo…” Yuuri groaned.

            “Hey, it’s your fault for dancing all night!” Yuuri gave a muffled swear in response. Phichit laughed and continued, “Come on! I’ve got great news! You’ll want to hear this!”

            “Fine,” Yuuri said, drawing out the word as he sat up. “What’s this amazing news?” Eyes growing wide with excitement, he asked, “Did Celestino approve the Thai dance showcase?”

            “If only,” Phichit said with a sigh. “I’m still waiting to hear on that one. No, this is great news for _you_!”

            “What do you mean?” Yuuri asked, growing apprehensive. Phichit’s surprises usually bordered on the outlandish.

            “Well…” Phichit said, drawing out the word. This really wasn’t going to be good.

            “Yes?”

            “I signed you up for an audition!” Phichit said excitedly. Oh. That’s surprisingly normal. Yuuri auditioned for stuff all the time; it was part of being a student at an internationally renowned dance school.

            “Okay. Why is this so great?” Yuuri asked.

            “Because Viktor Nikiforov is in the show you’re auditioning for!” Yuuri’s heart stopped.

            “No way.”

            “Come on! You’ve been a fan of his since childhood! This could be your chance!”

            “No. I can’t.” If it was a Victor Nikiforov show, that meant it involved Irish dance. While Yuuri was very talented, he had very little formal training, and that certainly didn’t warrant dancing on the same stage as _the_ Victor Nikiforov!

            “Sure you can! You’re pretty much the best dancer I’ve ever seen! They’re specifically auditioning _male_ Irish dancers. Do you know how many of those are around here?” Yuuri shook his head. “Not very many! And most of them can’t dance worth a crap! You’re practically a shoe-in!”

            “Phichit…I don’t know about this,” Yuuri said, pulling his arms around himself.

            “Yuuri,” Phichit said, his voice gentling, “This is your dream. Why are you hesitating?” Yuuri hung his head. He didn’t want to trouble Phichit with his anxieties. What if he didn’t make it? His heart would be crushed knowing he blew his chance. And what if he did make it? Could he even begin to keep up? If he couldn’t, he’d be kicked out of the troupe, and he would end up broken-hearted anyway.

            “I...”

            “You’ll never dance on the same stage as Victor if you never take the plunge,” Phichit said softly, yet with a note of firmness. “You can do this. I know you can. But if you really don’t think you’re up to it, I can call back and have them take your name off the list.” Yuuri certainly didn’t want that. Not only would it cause more trouble for the showrunners and his dear friend, but it’d be admitting failure. That was not in Yuuri’s nature.

            “I’ll do it,” he said, trying to keep the quavering out of his voice. “I want to dance with Viktor, and if this is the only way to do it, then so be it.” Phichit leapt up excitedly.

            “YES! You’ve got this!” Yuuri wasn’t so sure, but he put on a confident face anyway.

            “So, when is the audition?” Phichit smiled guiltily.

            “It’s the day after your final recital…” Yuuri spluttered, and Phichit shrugged apologetically. “It was the only time left they had.”

            “You…you are actually trying to kill me!” Yuuri said, trying to keep his breathing even. Phichit merely grinned. Yuuri rolled his eyes, and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Phichit caught a glance of Yuuri’s mutilated feet, and looked at Yuuri sternly.

            “Your feet are all torn up! You’re taking a rest day today! No arguments!” Yuuri knew better than to try to convince Phichit otherwise. Yuuri sighed, and lay back against the pillows. He may as well get some reading done if he’s not going to be allowed to dance. “Good. I’ve got rehearsal in a bit, so I’ve got to go. No more shredding your feet!”

            “I make no promises!” Yuuri said with a laugh. Phichit sighed dramatically and said,

            “Whatever am I going to do with you?” Yuuri shrugged helplessly. Phichit shook his head, and left. Once again, Yuuri was left alone with his thoughts. He tried to read his book, but his mind kept wandering back to the upcoming audition. Yuuri took a deep breath, hardening his resolve. He knew what he was going to do. Ignoring Phichit’s demands, he clambered out of bed and grabbed his dance bag, flying through the door and back down the street to the studio. Phichit would be pissed when he found out, but this time, Yuuri decided, it would be worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I know the pacing was a bit awkward, but it's the first chapter, so bear with me! I hope you enjoyed!


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